


Rites Of Passage

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-05
Updated: 2006-03-05
Packaged: 2018-08-16 00:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8080279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Someone gets a cat! But what does it cost him? (07/29/2002)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Written in response to one of TheGrrrl's many challenges ("someone gets a cat"). Not entirely sure where all this came from, but I think it's a fitting end to the Sickbay Seriesâ€”a little bit of violence, angst and discussion of Humanity's Role in the Universe.  
  
Squeaky (Best Beta in the World as far as MM is concerned) would love to offer her betaing service for the nominal fee of Pineapple Reed Crunchies. And possibly worship. :)  


* * *

Archer was beginning to hate this part of the ship.

Sickbay was clean and pleasant-looking under the bright lights, quiet and deceptively benign. It seemed to belittle the people there, the ones waiting, as if there was really nothing to worry about; as if nothing that came in here could ever be that bad.

That part was a lie, of course. Though under those friendly lights, with the cat curled up on one of the bio beds and Ensign Cutler talking softly as she cleaned Trip's black eye, it might be easy enough to believe it. Easy enough if it wasn't for the deep bruises and raw scrapes on Trip's bare chest; The stark anguish in his eyes; the way he clenched his bloodied fists on the edge of the bio bed like if he let go he might die. The blood staining Trip's hands and wrists, dried and cracked to a deep rust-red. The fear in the drawn faces of Hoshi and Travis, the two standing together as if transfixed by guilt and fear. The fact that Malcolm and Phlox weren't there because Malcolm had arrived almost dead—Phlox was in a separate room, trying to save him.

When he'd first arrived in Sickbay, Archer had looked for Trip first. He would never admit that, not to anyone. The blood on Trip's hands had terrified him—he'd thought it was the commander's—But when he knew Trip was all right it brought his world back. It had felt like his heart had permission to keep beating. Travis and Hoshi were obviously all right. Hoshi had been cradling the cat-like creature, but had put it down the instant he had stepped into the room, as if he had caught her doing something illicit. That cat had been injured too, apparently—he vaguely remembered someone mentioning that.

Then he had asked about Malcolm. The answer was as bad as it got.

"What happened down there, Trip?" Archer asked. He was privately amazed he could keep his voice so calm.

Elizabeth was the one who looked at him, as if he had asked her the question. "Could you leave us, please?" He asked her. She hesitated, glancing at Trip's face, her unfinished work, then put her tools onto a nearby tray and left. She gave a small, tremulous smile to Travis, and disappeared into one of the adjoining rooms.

"Trip," he said again, just as quietly, "I need to know." Beside him, Archer could see Travis and Hoshi exchange glances; Hoshi edged closer to the cat.

"Me an' Malcolm were jumped by some Varoshen," Trip said. He wasn't even trying to tone down his accent and he sounded so different it was startling. He rubbed a palm absently over the scraped part of his chest, leaving crumbling streaks of dried blood. "One o' 'em had a knife."

"I know," Archer said, "I know how you were both injured." The dull, aching emptiness in Trip's eyes was almost terrifying. Archer kept his voice as low and gentle as possible, as if Trip were some injured animal he was trying to soothe. And he had seen animals with eyes like that: wounded ones. Dying. "I need to know why. How did this happen?"

Trip's jaw was red and swollen and looked painful when he spoke. "Malcolm didn't see it comin'," he said quietly. He looked at Hoshi and Travis. "-None of us did. Luckily the ensigns were up ahead o'us. One second we were hikin', and the next..." He couldn't finish, turning his head away from all of them. Trip clenched his jaw so tightly it trembled.

"It's okay, Trip." Archer said. He wanted to embrace him, give him what small comfort he could. But when he put his hand on his shoulder Trip flinched.

"It's not," he said softly, his head still turned away from them. "It ain't all right."

Archer sighed. He was still the Captain. He didn't have the option of giving comfort. He turned to the two ensigns. Hoshi had started petting the cat-like creature again. "Why is she here?"

Travis looked at the cat, frowning. He opened his mouth to speak, but Hoshi quietly grabbed his arm and he stayed silent.

"I found it." Hoshi said quickly. The white skin that showed above her grimy tank top was so pale it was almost translucent; the scratches showed in starkly contrasting red. "The Varoshen had...kicked it, before they came after us. I picked it up."

Archer just looked at her. Something was wrong here. "You said you and Travis were running back to the shuttle—being chased by Varoshen. When would you have had time to pick up an animal?"

Hoshi's eyes went wide. She crossed her arms, as if trying to protect herself. "Well," she hesitated, nearly stammering, "It was near the trail. I mean-"

"That's not what happened, sir." Travis said. "Sorry." He said to Hoshi when she looked at him angrily.

"All right," Archer said. He faced Travis, putting his hands on his hips. "You have something to add?"

"The Varoshen were torturing the cat," Travis said firmly, "that's how it got hurt."

Archer glanced from the sleeping cat back to his helmsman. He knew there was something he wasn't being told. "And this was before you were ambushed."

"No, sir," Trip said quietly, "I'm afraid that ain't how it happened." Travis looked at him, his expression incredulous, but Trip ignored him, staring straight ahead. His expression was like stone. His blue eyes were liquid but he was keeping himself under rigid control.

Archer sighed. "Can you please tell me what happened on the planet, Trip?"

"Yes sir." Trip said. He still had his eyes fixed on the far wall, though Archer knew that wasn't what they were seeing. "The Varoshen were torturin' the cat." His voice was almost empty of inflection. "I told Malcolm t'go stop 'em."

"What?" Archer shook his head. "But you said they ambushed you. I don't understand."

"It's true," Hoshi said quickly. She looked stricken. "I heard...I heard the Commander say we couldn't let it happen."

Archer dragged his palm over his face. None of this was making any sense. "Trip?" He asked. When Trip looked at him he wasn't sure he could say anything else. He forced himself to continue. "Did you order Malcolm to take on four Varoshen? For a cat?"

"Yes, sir," Trip said. He swallowed, though with his bruised jaw it looked like it had to have hurt. "I did."

Archer's voice was beginning to shake. He thought of his armory officer being carried off the shuttle: eyes blank slits and face as gray as if he were already dead. He hadn't known anyone could be so hurt and still be alive. "But you love him."

"Yes sir, I do." Trip blinked and a tear snaked its way down his cheek, looking obscenely pure next to the dirt on his skin.

"YOU ALMOST GOT HIM KILLED!" Archer's heart was pounding. He hadn't realized he was going to shout. Malcolm may have truly been killed—no one knew yet. He controlled his voice with an effort, thinking belatedly of the two ensigns with them; he should have sent them away. Spoken to them later. He wanted to take Trip's shoulders and shake him. He clenched his fists until the knuckles went white. "For an animal, Trip," he said. "You almost got him killed for an animal."

"Yes sir." Trip said again. His eyes were as blue and cold as distant skies, his abused face icily calm. "Ah take full responsibility."

Archer glanced at the cat again, as if to assure himself it was real, still there. It looked thin, scraggly, pathetic. "Why did you do that? Why?"

The commander was crying freely now; he didn't seem to be aware of it. When he spoke his voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't have an answer for that, Cap'n."

"You don't-!" Archer squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep and shuddering breath. "I really think you need an answer, Commander," he said carefully, "at least for Malcolm's sake." _For his family,_ he thought, _we'll have to tell them something._

"Ah don't have one, sir," Trip said. He was still crying silently, eyes hollow as death. "I'm sorry."

"Me too," Archer said. He rubbed his fingers over his mouth, looking towards the back of Sickbay where Elizabeth had gone. "Ms. Cutler," he called to her. The ensign walked in immediately, seemingly a little started. "How soon will he be finished?"

Elizabeth went right to Trip and picked up her discarded tools. "Just a few minutes, sir," she said. She saw Trip's face and hesitated, then started working again.

"Good," Archer said. He turned his attention back to the commander. "I want you in my ready room, Trip. When Elizabeth has finished checking you out." He sighed. "I think we have a lot to talk about."

"Understood, sir." Trip said. Archer knew that Trip had to have understood what he meant—that they'd be talking about Trip's even continuing as commander. But there was nothing in Trip's expression besides the endless despair. Like he figured he deserved as much. Like he agreed with it. Maybe he did. He had done this to Malcolm, the man he loved, for a cat. Archer didn't understand.

Archer turned to Travis and Hoshi, who had been still for the rest of his and Trip's exchange. "Tell Phlox to keep me posted." He said, "I'll be in my ready room." He turned and walked out, casting a glance at the closed room, where Phlox was trying to patch up Malcolm's body. Maybe the doctor would manage it. He could only hope.

* * *

Travis watched the captain leave until the Sickbay doors shut behind him. He looked at Hoshi, but her miserable expression only mirrored his own. "Sir," he said to Trip, almost desperately, "why didn't you tell him?"

"Shut up, Trav," Trip said tiredly. He used the knuckles of one hand to dry his eyes, leaving small streaks of rust-red. He gently grasped Elizabeth's wrist the next time she tried to bring a laser to his jaw. "I'm fine," he said. He nodded at the cat, still curled on the bio bed, wincing at the pain the movement caused. "You should check on her. Make sure she's all right."

Elizabeth looked at the cat, then back at Trip, still holding the laser uncertainly in her hand. "There's nothing more I can do for her, Commander—Phlox said the contusions and cracked ribs have to heal on their own."

"Fine," Trip sighed. He turned and hauled his legs up onto the bio bed, laying back with a grimace of pain. Elizabeth immediately tried to go back to work, but he blocked her with a raised palm. "Leave it."

Elizabeth looked from Trip to Travis and Hoshi. Hoshi gave a minute shake of her head. Travis just shrugged. "I have to finish, Commander," she said, "I'll be done in-"

"Ah said leave it!" Trip repeated, his voice suddenly harsh. When the ensign began to protest he put his arm over his eyes. "Just leave me alone," he said softly. "I want to be alone."

Elizabeth, Travis and Hoshi exchanged glances, then they all moved to a different part of sick bay. Elizabeth saw that Travis was favoring his weaker leg. "Oh," she said, almost gratefully, "you should sit down—let me take care of that for you."

"In a minute," Travis said. When she looked unhappy about it he gave her a half-smile. "I just need to talk to Hoshi," he explained, "just a sec."

Elizabeth nodded, but she was obviously concerned. "Did the commander really order Lieutenant Reed to fight four aliens?"

"No," Hoshi said firmly, "that's not what happened at all."

Elizabeth looked at them, confused. "Then why did-"

Travis just shook his head. "Later, okay? I need to talk to Hoshi."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, hesitated. She looked back at Trip, who was lying as still as if he were asleep. Only the rapid movement of his breathing showed otherwise. "Don't let him leave, okay?" She asked finally.

"Promise," Travis said.

"All right," Elizabeth sounded reluctant, but she left them anyway, stopping only to briefly check the cat. From the distance Travis was standing now it was hard to tell if the animal was still breathing. Travis suddenly found himself frantically hoping that the cat might not die.

He sighed and turned to Hoshi. "Why'd you help him?"

Hoshi just shrugged, a tiny movement with her arms crossed. "You saw the way he looked at us," she said, "It was practically an order. It was what he wanted."

Travis shook his head. "Unless he said it, it wasn't an order." He looked angry. "I don't know what he's playing at," he said, "but it isn't right. That's not what happened."

Hoshi was looking at the animal again: such a small little life. "I know what he's doing," she said quietly. She took a deep breath and turned back to Travis. "So," she said, "what can we do about it?"

"Well," Travis said, "do you wanna tell the captain, or should I?"

* * *

The day was gray and overcast, warm but with the threat of rain. The perfect kind of day to move without being seen. Malcolm crawled forward a few more centimeters, using his elbows to pull himself along in a curiously graceful sinuous motion, like a snake. He peered carefully over the edge of the low outcropping, down into the clearing. He waited for a few minutes, just watching, then backed up carefully until he was back under the cover of the trees. He stood up quickly, brushing off bits of the grass-like plants as he walked towards the others. They were all standing silently, tensely waiting for him.

"Well?" Trip asked quietly. He was leaning against a tree with his arms crossed. "Anyone we know?"

"I don't think so," Malcolm kept his voice low. He turned to Hoshi. "Does the Vulcan database make any mention of bronze-skinned humanoids," he raised his hand to a little over his head-height, palm facing the ground, "roughly my size, darker brown hair with cat-like eyes?"

Hoshi thought for a minute, then sucked in a breath. "Varoshen," she said finally. "Young ones. That's bad news."

Beside her, Travis' eyes grew wide. "Varoshen?" He asked, his voice rising. Trip and Malcolm gave him a sharp glance and he winced and stopped talking.

"Why bad news?" Trip asked Hoshi.

Hoshi looked at Malcolm. "Were there four of them? Look like they're all males?" She made a face when he nodded. "Varoshen live in small clans like wolf packs," she explained, leaning close so the three men could hear her, "They're constantly fighting one another for dominance, especially the males. If there's a group of four here—and they're not full-grown yet, since their hair's still brown—then they're probably doing _Danaiyanak._ " She made the unfamiliar word sound beautiful. "It's a kind of 'rite-of-passage' thing."

Travis slapped his forehead—quietly—and looked like he might have groaned if he could make noise. "I've heard of that," he said, "damn."

"Pretty much," Hoshi agreed. She turned to Malcolm again. "Did they look like they were arguing? Fighting?"

"I'm not familiar with their normal conversation," Malcolm answered sardonically, "but yes, now that you ask...they did seem to be acting aggressively." Two of them had been playing a sort of game consisting of trading massive punches in the shoulder; it seemed the one who staggered furthest with the impact lost.

Travis grimaced theatrically.

"Fuck." Hoshi said, "That's really bad—it means they're working themselves up, going into a berserker state."

"Then what?" Trip asked. He sounded like he already knew the answer and didn't want to hear it.

"Then they go hunting."

Trip just closed his eyes and shook his head. "First Risa, now this. Can't we ever just get some damn decent shore leave?" Malcolm glared at him but he ignored it, eyeing Hoshi suspiciously. "Why didn't the Vulcans say this planet was a hot bed o' crazy aliens?"

Hoshi shook her head. "It's not—as far as I understood, Varoshen almost never leave their home planet." She looked at Travis, who nodded in agreement. "Maybe this is special, or something."

"Great," Trip said morosely, "just friggin' great."

"Can't we just, you know, go around them or something?" Travis asked. He looked back longingly at where their two tents had been set up in a much smaller clearing. "Or stay here?"

"If they truly go into a berserker fury," Malcolm said thoughtfully, "I'm not sure there's anywhere we could hide from them."

Hoshi nodded. "I read they can go for days."

Malcolm glanced at her. "And they kill things—all that time?"

"Yes," Hoshi said, "anything that moves."

Trip looked disgusted. "Sweet Jesus."

"Well," said Travis, "I guess we'd better get back to the shuttle then." He sighed, making sure to exhale silently, and turned to go to their campsite.

"Wait," Malcolm said. He put his hand out to make Travis stop. He had heard something just now: a high-pitched keening noise, with spaces like growling or hissing in between. It reminded him of a rabbit. Hoshi, with her exceptional hearing, had turned towards it a moment or two earlier. "That sounds like an animal."

"Dinner, probably," Travis said. He shuddered. "Supposedly, they eat their meat raw."

Malcolm waved the helmsman quiet, looking at Hoshi. "I saw one of them, before, bringing an animal to the camp."

Hoshi's eyes grew wide and horrified. " _Alive?_ " Malcolm's face was all the answer she needed. "Oh god, Malcolm," she said in a appalled whisper, "they're _torturing_ it!"

"They'd _do_ that?" Trip's expression matched Hoshi's. "Why?"

"It's part of _Danaiyanak._ " Hoshi explained, "to work up the rage."

The animal in the Varoshen camp made a sound very much like a scream. Loudly enough this time that all four of them turned towards it.

"We can't let 'em do that," Trip said softly.

"Don't worry," Malcolm answered immediately, voice serious, "I won't."

* * *

Trip hurt. Everything hurt. It hurt to move. It hurt to breathe. Not even the lacrosse-type game on Zorbrhal's planet had made him hurt this much. Not even the death-march through the desert afterwards.

He lay on the bio bed, looking up at his hands, slowly turning he palms up and down in the bright light. They were so red with blood, they didn't look like they even belonged to him. He'd had no idea someone could bleed that much and still live. He'd used his t-shirt to staunch Malcolm's wound, pressing as hard as he could as if that would keep his partner's life inside him. He watched in horror as the blood soaked his shirt dark crimson and kept seeping out to stain his hands. He was so sure Malcolm would bleed out in the shuttle pod; that by the time they finally got back to _Enterprise_ he'd already be gone. Trip had no idea Travis could fly a shuttle that fast, but he had been so sure it still wouldn't be fast enough.

He might still be right.

He supposed Phlox would give him royal hell for not letting Elizabeth do a more thorough examination; to make sure nothing had ruptured inside him as well. He looked at his hands, at all the blood, and it didn't seem to matter. He was already ruptured; the only question was if he'd ever be all right again.

He couldn't stand to look at the blood. He didn't want to wash it off. What if Malcolm died? What if this was all he had left of him?

He rolled onto his side, feeling each muscle creak in protest, his bruises send out little thrills of pain. He put his hands over his eyes, feeling the roughness of the dried blood against his eyelids. Malcolm's blood: his fault. All of it.

He began to shake silently.

* * *

Hoshi walked quickly across the bridge. T'Pol glanced up from her station as the Ensign passed, but said nothing, her expression typically inscrutable as she took in Hoshi's dirty civilian clothes, the angry red lines from the brambles she'd run through. The crew replacing herself, Travis and Malcolm, looked at Hoshi with expressions of open alarm. It made her wish she had taken the time to shower and change, or at least put on a heavier shirt. The ointment Elizabeth had given her was helping a lot with the welts, at least. The didn't itch and sting anymore, but she knew how bad they still looked and wished terribly that no one else could see them. She didn't want the captain to see them. She didn't want him to be reminded of what had just happened.

But Travis had begged her not to wait, to talk to Archer and put things right even if it meant going against the commander. She had agreed, finally, only after Travis had promised to stay and keep watch on the cat.

And wait with Elizabeth and Trip, to find out if Malcolm would live. But neither of them had actually said that aloud.

She hit the door chime to Archer's ready room once, waited. She crossed her arms, decided it looked too hostile and let them drop. She hit the chime again, and waited. She hit the chime a third time, waited. Crossed her arms.

"Come in," she heard finally. She opened the door and stepped through.

"Jonathan," she said, distinctly and clearly. After so many languages, it was his name that felt alien after all this time. He was sitting at his desk, his console on in front of him, but she could tell by the way he looked up that he hadn't been reading anything.

He blinked, taken aback by her familiarity. Then his face became hard. "Can I help you, Ensign?"

Hoshi refused to back down. "Jonathan," she said again, firmly, letting him know she meant it. "We need to talk."

* * *

Trip crawled with Malcolm back to the outcropping, trying to mimic the lieutenant's moves, wishing Starfleet had given their engineers a bit more of the military-style training. He'd learned self-defense and how to shoot, but that was about it; right now he was just copying Malcolm, trying to match his moves. He hoped he was making less noise than a truck.

Not that it seemed to matter. In the short time it had taken to get to the outcropping from the edge of the trees the animal's cries had gotten louder, more angry and desperate. He remembered learning that rabbits were like that: how if they were really frightened or hurt they sounded just like a human when they screamed. When he was a little boy his parents had taken him to visit family in Texas. One evening he had heard a jackrabbit being run down by a coyote. It seemed you could hear the screaming for miles. Trip shuddered silently in the grass. He couldn't believe they were doing this, that they were going to risk their lives for an animal. But then the creature screamed again, and the Varoshen-youths were laughing, and he was thinking how could they not? How could they not?

He looked over at Malcolm, but the lieutenant's expression was set and grim, eyes dark as the storm clouds above them. Trip carefully moved his hand along the ground until he could slide his fingers over the lieutenant's.

Malcolm turned quickly, keeping his head low, obviously surprised. Trip just smiled and winked at him, squeezing Malcolm's hand. He pulled it up to his face so he could touch his lips to the knuckles.

Malcolm rolled his eyes exaggeratedly so that Trip could see it, but he had begun smiling too. He squeezed his partner's hand back, then gently pulled his hand away and started moving forward again.

They reached the edge of the outcropping a minute later, and Trip was a little dismayed to see how close they really were to the Varoshen campsite below. The cliff looked to just be about two meters up; he could jump down easily without hurting anything. It also meant the four Varoshen were nearly right in front of them, they could probably see them if they just turned around. He was amazed that Malcolm had been able to watch the aliens for so long before without letting them know he was there. But then, he'd been trained to do stuff like that. Trip had been trained to work on things that made a lot of noise and wouldn't try to kill you. Not on purpose, anyway.

These Varoshen might. Hoshi and Travis had made very clear as much. Trip was abruptly glad he had ordered the two ensigns to go prep the shuttle, though Hoshi was at least slightly hopeful she could maybe talk the wolf-boys into trading for the animal or something. Travis had been worried about the odds—four against two—but he didn't try to follow them, agreeing in the end that Malcolm had the better plan: All Trip and Malcolm had to do was distract the Varoshen, maybe grab the animal if they could, but hopefully it would just escape. Then Travis and Hoshi would be right there with the shuttle and they could get away clean; go tell the park wardens about the Varoshen and their berserker-hunt. Maybe they'd even get a decent shore leave after all.

Malcolm nodded sharply at the aliens standing just below them, indicating his target. They were so close Trip figured he could reach out and touch one, that dog-like brown hair. He wondered briefly if it would feel coarse, like a wolf's did, or soft like a domestic cat.

The four Varoshen were standing in a rough circle, their attention completely taken by the small animal in the center. Trip was surprised: by the noise it had been making he had really been expecting a rabbit, or at least something close. This creature looked far more like a cat, one of the smaller ones like an ocelot or mountain lion. It looked like it might weigh a little less than 10 kilos. It's head was longer and more narrow, almost Egyptian looking, with low-set, fan-shaped ears. It was mottled dark brown with stripes of gray and black, perfect for this planet's wooded environment. Except that the Varoshen had caught it. Not perfect enough.

Its eyes were a strange, almost luminescent rose. And they were furious and terrified. It was hissing and snarling at the four young Varoshen who had it surrounded, constantly turning so it could face a new point of attack. It was limping, favoring a hind leg, trembling from nose to its tiny stub of a tail. It was also bleeding from its mouth. Trip hoped the blood belonged to one of the Varoshen. As he watched, one of the four aimed a brutal kick at its side, which it barely managed to avoid. He heard that horrible human scream again when the Varoshe's boot connect with its haunch.

Trip swallowed, every muscle tense. He felt sick. He couldn't stand watching this. He had one eye on Malcolm, waiting for his signal. He didn't know what Malcolm was waiting for, but the lieutenant didn't move.

The cat-like creature growled and whirled again, rushing towards the right where there was a larger gap in the circle. The largest Varoshen, whose hair was streaked silvery-white, moved in gracefully to block it, and the cat leapt for his chest. The Varoshe instinctively dropped a leather-gauntleted arm to protect himself, and the cat latched on to his wrist with its jaws, scrabbling viciously at his chest. The Varoshe gave a yelp of surprise and pain, and began to spin like he was burning, trying with his other hand to yank the cat off his arm. His three companions were laughing: dog-like yapping sounds that were nonetheless unmistakable. None of them tried to help.

It seemed Malcolm pulled himself to his feet and leapt all in the same second, smooth and graceful as a wolf. He aimed at the closest Varoshe, knees hitting squarely in the alien's back. They both went down, the Varoshe crashing face-first into the ground under Malcolm's weight. Malcolm threw himself into a roll when he landed, coming up on his feet. Trip had no idea how sturdy these aliens were, but Malcolm didn't look back at the Varoshe he had just taken down, and the alien didn't seem to be moving. Instead Malcolm launched himself at a second Varoshe, who was just able to block the first kick thrown at him.

All this had happened in the few seconds it took Trip to get to his feet. He took a deep breath and jumped after the lieutenant, trying to aim for the nearest one the way Malcolm had. He wrapped his arms around the Varoshe's neck, using his weight and momentum to bear him to the ground.

They both hit hard and he lost his grip, one arm pinned under the alien. The Varoshe raised his head and snarled like a cat. One side of his face was badly scraped from the hard ground, and when he opened his mouth Trip saw blood on the Varoshe's tongue. _Serves y'right,_ he thought, but he didn't have time to do anything else before the Varoshe head-butted him hard in the eye.

The pain was startling, and he tried to roll away from it, but the Varoshe, facing the ground, had grabbed Trip's trapped hand. The Varoshe threw himself on top of Trip, no art to his attack whatsoever, but effectively pinning the human with his weight. The alien tried to struggle upright, trying to get his legs under him. His elbow smacked Trip hard in the jaw, then he grabbed a handful of the commander's hair. Trip was terrified the Varoshe would be able to get his calf over his throat.

His right hand was still free though, and he punched the Varoshe in the face: once, twice, again, putting all his strength into it. Each blow seemed to stagger the alien, the third one enough that Trip was able to pull his hand free finally and roll, trying to put some distance between the two of them. His scalp stung where the Varoshe had been yanking his hair.

The Varoshe shouted something and tried to grab for him again, but Trip brought his foot up and kicked him in the abdomen. The alien rolled with it, somersaulting backwards to his feet in a move that suddenly reminded Trip frighteningly of Malcolm. Trip scrambled to his feet, never taking his eyes off the Varoshe. In the brief moment it took him he saw the Varoshe reach under one arm and draw a very wicked-looking knife.

"Uh-oh." Knives—anything even resembling a weapon—were completely forbidden in this planet's wilderness areas. This one looked like it was made of something like plastic, which probably explained how it had gotten here undetected.

The shuttle, with Travis and Hoshi, was nowhere in sight.

The knife might have been plastic, but it looked deadly enough. He'd been taught how to fight against a knife-wielder, of course, but he wasn't sure how much of that would really help him now. The Varoshe lunged and Trip backpedaled, wishing for even a portion of Malcolm's expertise. The alien slashed at him and he blocked automatically. _God bless Starfleet training._ He followed up with a punch to the gut that would have doubled a human over but just made the Varoshe growl. Trip wasn't fast enough to avoid a kick to his thigh and he collapsed to one knee. The Varoshe plunged the knife down at his head and he was just able to grab the alien's wrist with both hands, feeling the blade dance in little red cuts along his forearms.

Trip was sure Malcolm would have no trouble getting out of this, but he didn't have a damn clue. The knife was slowly moving closer to his body as his arms bent under the Varoshe's full weight, and he figured it'd be kissing his breastbone soon if he didn't move. The Varoshe's mouth was open in something eerily like a grin—all pointed teeth and lolling tongue. The alien obviously thought he was a dead man.

Trip abruptly released his hold on the alien's wrist and threw himself backwards, kicking upward with all his strength. He just managed to miss the knife as the Varoshe fell forward. Trip clipped him with his boot on the side of his head.

The Varoshe dropped like a rock.

Trip blinked. He was sure he'd barely touched him. He watched in amazement as a dark bronze-colored swelling started to grow on the Varoshe's head, right where he'd clipped him in front of his ear. The Varoshen had a weak spot.

"Malcolm!" He ran towards his partner, whom he could see was on the far side of the campsite, fighting two Varoshen at once. The fourth Varoshe was still lying where Malcolm's leaping attack had left him. Now Trip could see that the aliens' head was turned, the vulnerable spot on the temple pressed right into the ground.

Malcolm was still moving easily, his breath coming fast but even. He was blocking all of the un-trained blows that came his way, but the Varoshen were moving too quickly to allow him to effectively counter attack. Both of the Varoshen were holding knives.

"Malcolm!" Trip shouted again. He wanted to tell him about the weakness—that their temples were lower and more vulnerable than on a human.

Malcolm blocked another clumsy slash from one side. He turned to look at Trip running towards him, his eyes frightened.

Frightened for Trip. Too late, the commander realized he'd just killed his lover.

Malcolm had assumed Trip needed help. It broke his concentration for less than a second. Enough time for one of the Varoshen to flank him, slash down with his knife, bury it to the hilt in Malcolm's chest.

Trip screamed, a howl of absolute denial and rage. He ran towards Malcolm, watching as the Lieutenant's eyes went wide with shock and he collapsed to his knees. Both Varoshen turned towards the sound. The largest Varoshe, the one who had just stabbed Malcolm, grinned ferally and pulled the knife out with a single, brutal yank. A jet of blood followed the blade. Malcolm gasped and slumped to the ground.

Trip heard the distinct noise of the shuttle's engines then, screaming towards them. It didn't matter now.

He bent, still running, and picked up a large stone.

He threw himself against the largest Varoshe, tackling him, totally ignoring the knife. The alien fell backwards, grunting as the air was slammed out of him. The Varoshe hit the ground hard, gasping, and then Trip hefted the stone and smashed it into the side of the alien's head.

Trip whirled to face the final Varoshe behind him, the one he had expected to stab his knife into his back. The alien was standing transfixed, knife-arm at his side as if he had forgotten what to do with it. Trip stood and lifted the stone, dripping bronze.

The shuttle almost fell into a roughshod landing, so close to Trip that the wash nearly knocked him off balance. It fishtailed along the ground, skidding to a haphazard stop like an amateur was at the controls. The doors were already opening.

The young Varoshe looked at Trip, then at the shuttle pod behind him. He turned and ran.

* * *

"We all thought the animal escaped," Hoshi explained, "but then I saw it just before Travis closed the doors for take off. I ran out and picked it up." She had been sure it was dead; equally sure that she had to rescue it, do something. There was no way, after all this, that she could leave the cat behind. For one heart-seizing moment she had been sure that Trip would order the shuttle to take off without her. That in his agony over Malcolm he had forgotten she even existed. But it was his blood-covered hand that helped her get back on board.

She'd had enough time to find a place for the unconscious animal before the shuttle lifted off again. The rest of the journey she helped Trip tend to Malcolm. Trip had torn off his shirt to use as a kind of bandage, pressing it into the wound. Malcolm had a collapsed lung. She had grabbed the first-aid kit, been the one to plunge the needle in between the ribs just under his collarbone. She'd expected air to come rushing out, freeing his lung to expand and let him breathe. Instead there was only blood.

There was too much blood. The knife had probably cut his aorta or heart. She stuck him with another needle, this one between his two lowest ribs. And the blood had poured out, pooling onto the shuttle's metal deck. And still more of it. Always more. When she'd finally gotten to sickbay she'd quietly thrown up, but not until Phlox had taken Malcolm.

"How did you get so scratched?"

It was an odd question, and Hoshi blinked, looking up at the captain. She hadn't realized it but her hands, clenched tightly in her lap, were shaking, and she could feel sweat on her face, down her back. "Brambles," she said, grateful to tell him, grateful for the distraction. "The forest was full of thorny trees, like rosebushes, but thinner." Brambles. She and Travis hadn't had time to find the path again. She managed a smile. "We were running pretty fast."

Archer nodded. "I see." He dragged his hand over his face, leaving his palm over his mouth as he watched her. Neither of them said anything for a long moment.

"I didn't think it was going to be like this either, Hoshi," he said.

Hoshi looked at him, blinking. "Sir?"

He smiled, a little sadly, wearily. "It's 'Jon,' remember?" He stood, looking down at his desk, tracing patterns with one finger on the hard surface. Hoshi just waited, quietly watching him.

"This," he said, "was not how it was supposed to be." He looked up at her. "Not this danger. Not getting hurt all the time." He smiled again, but there was nothing approaching humor in it. "Malcolm might die tonight. And for what? For what?" Hoshi opened her mouth but he waved her silent. "You were on shore leave. It was meant to be safe. Nothing was going to happen."

He left the desk and walked to his view port. He clasped his hands loosely behind his back as he stared out at the stars. "I've been wondering, lately, if maybe we're not meant to be out here at all."

"We saved that animal, Jonathan."

Archer looked at his communications officer. She was standing, still pale, still striped painfully with red, but her brown eyes were flashing, her small hands clenched at her sides.

"-Yes," she answered firmly to what he hadn't said, "yes it _does_ matter. We rescued someone who was being tortured, who was going to be killed. Who knows what that animal's descendants will be? Who knows what difference we may have made to the Varoshen?—They know they just can't hurt, can't kill whatever they want anymore. Someone will care. Someone will stop them. _We_ will stop them."

Jonathan just looked at her, "is that why you think we're out here? To save cats?"

"No," Hoshi said, "we're out here to explore space. To show other species what it means to be human. And maybe have some of that humanity rub off on them. She smiled, just a little, but it was real. "It doesn't really matter why we're out here. All that matters is that we are."

Jonathan had turned to face her completely now. There was awe in his eyes. "I didn't know," he said softly, "I didn't know you felt the same."

Hoshi's face was bemused. "Why did you think I joined _Enterprise_?"

"Hoshi," Jonathan asked quietly, "What do I do if Malcolm dies?"

Hoshi closed her eyes, took a deep breath, opened them again. "I don't know," she said simply, "what do you think you should do?"

Jonathan nodded. "Trip needs to see him."

"Yes he does."

"And I," He sighed. "I still need to talk to him." He shook his head, bewildered. "Why did he lie to me?"

Hoshi lifted her eyebrows. "I'm actually thinking that's pretty obvious, sir."

Jonathan's mouth lifted in a half-smile, recognizing her use of his title. "Thank you for your...talk, Ensign."

Hoshi gave him a brisk, professional nod before she turned. "Anytime, sir. Anytime."

* * *

"Ensign Sato."

"Yes, T'Pol?" Hoshi had just left the captain's ready room. She turned politely towards the sub-commander, wondering what T'Pol wanted. She hoped it wasn't going to be a reprimand about her lack of professional dress on the bridge.

The Vulcan regarded her coolly, but she stepped away from her station to stand facing the ensign. "I wanted to give you my opinion of your actions on the planet."

Hoshi fought to keep her expression neutral. "Unless this is an official warning, sir," she began, "I really don't need-"

T'Pol smoothly raised a hand to stop her. "On the contrary, Ensign," she said, "Vulcans do not find it logical to hurt or kill animals. As you know, we are vegetarians." At Hoshi's surprised nod she continued. "I merely wished to express that I found your rescue of the animal, civilized."

"Civilized," Hoshi repeated. She had begun smiling in spite of herself—from a Vulcan it was high praise indeed. "Thank you, Sub-Commander."

T'Pol inclined her head gracefully in acknowledgement. "As you were, Ensign."

"Yes, sir," Hoshi said. She quickly walked the rest of the way to the turbolift. She was still smiling.

* * *

"Commander? Mr. Tucker?"

At the gentle touch on his shoulder Trip blinked, came awake. "Sorry," he murmured. Doctor Phlox was sitting beside the bio bed, facing him. He looked tired, though he was smiling as widely as ever. In his lap he was holding a large steel bowl of water.

Trip came alert instantly, levering himself up onto his elbows. It hurt and he winced unconsciously. "How's Malcolm?"

His voice was harsher than he'd intended, but Phlox's grin merely widened indulgently. "He came through the surgery remarkably well, Commander. It seems the lieutenant has an exceptional will to live."

Trip's breath left him in a rush and he collapsed back onto the bio bed. His heart hurt, like it hadn't been beating right. His eyes were wet again, but he angrily blinked the tears back. He wasn't going to cry again—not for this. Not when Malcolm was alive. "Is he," Trip's throat was tight and he had to swallow before he could finish. "Is he gonna be all right?"

"Oh, probably!" Phlox said brightly, though his words belied his tone. "The next 24 hours will be crucial, I'm afraid. But he will certainly live if he can make it through the night."

_Through the night._ "Okay," Trip whispered. Malcolm would make it through the night. He knew he would. He had to. "Thank you." He doubted Phlox could ever know how much he meant that.

"All in the job description," Phlox smiled.

Trip looked at the doctor. "Can I see him?"

"In good time, Commander," Phlox said. He reached over to a tray table and picked up one of several small folded washcloths. "At the moment I believe you still have injuries that need to be tended to, am I correct?" He smiled genially as he took Trip's closer wrist. He put Trip's bloodstained hand into the bowl of water as The commander watched, then soaked the cloth and began washing the skin clean. "We have many cleansers, of course," he said conversationally as he scrubbed Trip's wrist, cleaning the shallow cuts from the Varoshe's knife. "But I still find that plain-old cool water works best for human blood." He looked up at the commander and winked. "Some times the simplest solutions are still the best, no?"

"Sure." Trip hadn't had anyone wash his hands for him since he was a little kid, and he found Phlox's ministrations at once unpleasant and strangely comforting. He watched in quiet fascination as his right hand slowly became clean again, but had to look away finally as the water became increasingly red.

"Is there a particular reason why you refused Elizabeth's help?" Phlox asked. He seemed to be concentrating entirely on his work—scrubbing the last of the blood from Trip's palm—but it was impossible to miss the pointed question, even in such mild tones. "She has proven herself to be a very competent medic."

"Meant no disrespect, doc," Trip said, "Just...didn't feel like bein' poked at. That's all."

"Oh, of course," the doctor said. He lifted Trip's right hand out of the water and inspected it, nodding to himself. He grabbed another cloth and wrapped it around Trip's hand, rubbing it vigorously to dry it. "There," he said, satisfied. Phlox looked down at the water, now light red. "Hmmm...it seems I'll have to change this before we continue." He gave Trip another smile as he rose. "I'll be right back."

Trip watched as Phlox went to one of the nearby sinks, rinsed out the bowl and replaced the water in it. For a moment—just a moment—Phlox leaned heavily against the counter, bowed his head as if he were carrying a great weight. _He's exhausted,_ Trip realized. _From operating on Malcolm._ For some reason the thought terrified him. But the doctor pulled himself upright quickly. He picked up the bowl and smiled as he returned as if nothing had happened.

"Well then," he said cheerfully, "where were we?" He reached for another washcloth.

"Y'don't have to do this, doc," Trip said. "I mean, I'm fine-"

"I think I can judge that, Commander," Phlox said. He sounded no less friendly but his tone still had an edge to it. He leaned over, using the wet cloth this time to wipe the blood and dirt off of Trip's face. "You took quite a beating there, Mr. Tucker," he said. Trip tried not to wince or flinch as the cloth moved lightly over his bruised skin. "...Not to mention almost losing someone you care for deeply." Phlox pulled the cloth away and smiled at his handiwork. He put that cloth aside and took another one, leaving it in the bowl. He reached for Trip's left hand. "I would be hard-pressed to describe someone as 'fine' who experienced what you just have, don't you think?"

Trip looked on dully as Phlox began cleaning his other hand. "It's my fault."

Phlox paused, raising one of his expressive eyebrows. "What is?"

"What happened to Malcolm," Trip said. "It was because of me. I almost killed him."

"Hmmm," Phlox said, considering one of Trip's fingernails. "I wasn't aware that you were the one who stabbed him."

Trip hissed in a breath, tried to yank his hand back, but Phlox's grip, while gentle, was unbreakable. "I distracted him," Trip said. He was suddenly very angry. "He thought I was hurt—he was looking at me. He should have been looking at the Varoshen."

"Interesting," Phlox said. He was using minute strokes to get the last bit of blood off of Trip's fingers. "I realize my expertise may not lie in the violent arts," he looked up, grinned, "as does that of our Mr. Reed," he went back to his washing, "but it would seem to me that perhaps he shouldn't have allowed himself to become distracted."

Trip did yank his hand back then, startling Phlox and nearly upsetting the water bowl. Phlox steadied it adroitly. "What the hell do you know about it?" Trip demanded. "You weren't there!—Y'didn't see what happened!"

"Of course not," Phlox said calmly, still smiling as he set the bowl aside. "Nor did I intend to imply otherwise." He picked up a new cloth and began drying Trip's left hand as if nothing had happened. "I was just wondering, Commander," Phlox said thoughtfully, "If perhaps you should ask Mr. Reed if he blames you for what happened—before you insist on taking it on yourself?"

Before Trip could reply Phlox stood, moving the chair neatly back. "Now that's taken care of," he said cheerily as he helped Trip upright, "let's get you to the MRI and see what's what, shall we?"

* * *

They'd put him in one of the more isolated parts of Sickbay, where Phlox had dimmed the lights. The gentle beeping of the monitor above the bio bed was the only real noise in the room.

Trip sat silently next to Malcolm, holding his hand. Watching him breathe. Every steady rise and fall of his chest, every strong blip on the monitor was one second more of life; one second more of certainty that he would live. _He will certainly live if he can make it through the night._ Phlox had said. It was already past midnight. Every minute more was one step further out of the darkness.

He knew that the captain was standing behind him even before Jonathan said anything. His best friend had a presence that was unmistakable, impossible to ignore. "H'lo, Jon," he said.

"I'm surprised Phlox didn't release you from Sickbay."

"Not yet." Technically, that was true. The doctor had given him painkillers and a clean bill of health, but had never told him he could actually leave. He'd just led him to Malcolm and left them alone.

"Are you all right?"

Trip smiled slightly. That Jon should still care about his welfare after all this. "I'm fine."

Jonathan chuckled. "You sound like Malcolm."

Trip glanced back at Jonathan. The captain had his arms crossed and was leaning against the wall, wearing jeans and a brown sweater. Trip looked back at his partner: Malcolm was still so pale. "Well," he said quietly, "I almost got him killed. How do you think I'm feelin'?"

"Like shit," Jon said honestly. "Like the engine should blow up right now and just put you out of your misery." At Trip's look he gave him a half-smile. "Am I right?"

Trip gave him a slow nod. "That's 'bout it."

"Is that why you lied to me?" Jonathan crossed around the bio bed until he was standing across from Trip. He looked down at Malcolm for a long moment. "Phlox told me his chances of making it are really good."

"Yeah." Trip smiled faintly. He wanted so badly to believe that, but he couldn't. Not entirely. Not until Malcolm opened his eyes.

"Why'd you lie to me, Trip?" Jonathan asked again. When it looked like Trip was going to protest he said, "Hoshi told me what happened down there: that you didn't order Malcolm to do anything. She said it was pretty much his whole idea." Trip's expression shuttered, and Jonathan sighed. He went to lean one hand against the wall, saw how near he was to the bio screen and moved away. "You were on course to get busted down to ensign, Trip—you know I was thinking of it. You could have lost your entire career." He nodded at the still form on the bio bed. "If he, if he hadn't made it, do you think that's what he would have wanted? For you to throw everything away like that?"

Trip looked at him impassively. "What're you gonna do t'him?"

Jonathan frowned, puzzled. "What do you mean, 'what am I going to do to him?' I'm not going to do anything."

Trip scowled. "What?" He asked, "you're not gonna bust 'im down to ensign? Throw away his entire career?"

Jonathan put his hands on his hips. "What would I do that for?"

"Oh, come on!" Trip kept his voice low but he was obviously angry. "Y'just stood there an' said you were doin' it to me-!"

"First of all," Jonathan said, "I said I was _thinking_ about it—I never said it'd happen. And second: that was in reaction to you telling me you ordered a subordinate to risk his life on a whim. Which," he added, "isn't exactly what happened, is it?"

Trip looked away, back at Malcolm. Maybe it was Jonathan's imagination, but the lieutenant's color looked slightly better. Trip swallowed. "I didn't want him t'be dishonored."

"In case he died, you mean." Jonathan said. Trip nodded wordlessly. "You didn't want anyone to think he'd died for the sake of a cat."

"Yessir," Trip said thickly. "Y'know how his folks're, right?" His voice was so low it was hard for Jonathan to hear him. "You talked t'them. His pa didn't even want him out here. Thought it was a disgrace, him not bein' in the navy-" He looked back at Jonathan, finally, eyes bright with his distress. "So how could I, how could I go back t'them. Go back an' say-" He just closed his eyes, breathing hard. Jonathan could see a muscle in his jaw jumping.

He reached across the bio bed and put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Trip," he said quietly, "Trip. Look at me." The commander did, though his expression was still full of pain. "There's no reason to punish anyone who is acting in someone's defense. In fact," he smiled, "I think that's pretty darn honorable."

Trip shook his head in confused denial. "Cap'n—he almost died."

"Thank god he didn't," Jonathan said. "But even if-" with Malcolm so obviously alive he didn't want to use the word again. "Even if the worst happened, it wouldn't have changed the meaning of the act." He smiled as he pulled his hand back, thinking of Hoshi as he spoke: "he saved someone from being tortured. You all did. And you showed a bunch of vicious aliens that they can't get away with that shit anymore. I think that yesterday you represented the best of humanity."

Trip wasn't willing to be mollified. He looked at Malcolm again, as if waiting to see accusation in the peaceful features. "But it wasn't 'someone,' Cap'n. It was something—just an animal."

Jonathan understood how the commander felt. He'd been thinking the same thing before Hoshi had spoken to him. He was beginning to realize just how much he owed her for that. "C'mon, Trip. We both know that wasn't an issue at the time." Trip glanced up sharply, but Jonathan just smiled, hands raised placatingly. "You know what I mean: the fact that it's a cat wasn't important then, was it? You knew someone—something—was in need and you went to help. What's wrong with that?"

Trip was silent for a long moment. He reached out with his free hand and gently smoothed the hair back from Malcolm's forehead. "You should'a heard it screamin'," He said quietly. "God—I hope I never hear anythin' like that again."

"I'm glad I didn't." Jonathan said.

Trip looked up at Jonathan again. He left one hand on his partner's forehead; the other was still holding the lieutenant's hand. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Jonathan said seriously. "Just, next time: don't lie to me, all right? We're friends. I think I deserve better than that." He gestured at Malcolm. "So does he. You would have belittled his sacrifice. Think about that."

Trip paled slightly, eyes widening with realization. "Understood, sir."

"Good." Jonathan nodded. "That's all I ask." He started to turn away. "Take care of him."

"With m'life," Trip said quietly, "with my life." He blew out a long breath once the captain was out of earshot. He leaned forward until he was gently touching his forehead to Malcolm's. "Oh god, Malcolm," he sighed, "I am _so_ glad y'didn't hear any o'that."

He wasn't sure, but he thought he felt the lieutenant squeeze his hand.

* * *

The sky was typically overcast, but the wind was stronger and colder than when they had first been in the clearing, showing the capriciousness of the planet. All six of them were wearing jackets. Even so, Hoshi was leaning against Travis' chest, his arms protectively crossed over her as she shivered. Jonathan glanced at her and grinned; she glowered at him and he laughed.

Malcolm and Trip were standing on his left, close to each other but not touching. Malcolm still looked a little weak—he wouldn't be back on a full duty schedule for several more days—but he was standing as proudly as a soldier about to receive a medal. Which, Jonathan supposed, in a way he was.

He turned to Phlox, who had left the shuttle later than the rest of them and was just now arriving. He was carrying a large animal transport case by the handle. "Is your patient ready, doctor?"

"She seems to be extremely eager to get on with things," Phlox said. The way the case was shifting back and forth, and the furious growling and hissing testified to as much.

Malcolm smirked. "Her and Hoshi." He winked at the shivering ensign. "Better to let our guest go before they both start attacking."

Hoshi's indignant reply was muffled by the cat's snarl as Phlox placed the cage heavily on the ground. He looked up at the captain, panting slightly. "I think it's only fair that the leader of her rescue party should do the honors."

"Great idea," Jonathan agreed. "Malcolm?"

Malcolm looked over at him, blinking. "Me, sir?"

Jonathan chuckled. "I don't see anyone else who fits the bill, Lieutenant." He gestured at the cage. "Don't keep your damsel waiting."

Malcolm smiled slightly, then quickly went to the cage. He positioned himself carefully so that the door of the transportation case would be between him and the animal. He blew on his closed fingers as he bent down. "Careful she doesn't bite."

He opened the cage door with one smooth motion and stepped back, giving the animal plenty of room as she bolted out of the case and into the forest. In less than a second the mottled gray of her fur had blended with the gray hues of the forest and she was gone.

"Well," Malcolm said, "that was a little anti-climatic, wasn't it?"

"Good enough for me," Hoshi said. Her teeth were chattering.

"Me too," said Travis, but he sounded like he meant it.

Jonathan turned, clapping Malcolm on the shoulder. "Come on people," he said, "let's go."

"If you don't mind, sir," Malcolm said, "I'd like to stay a few minutes—pay my respects, as it were."

Jonathan could see Trip smiling over Malcolm's shoulder, but he couldn't tell if the lieutenant was joking or not. "Sure," he nodded hesitantly, "we'll meet you back at the shuttle in ten."

"Thank you, sir," Malcolm said.

"I'd like to stay too, Cap'n,' Trip added, "if that's okay."

Jonathan looked from one to the other and smiled. "Just don't be too long."

Trip grinned. "Nosir."

Trip turned back to Malcolm as the captain left, expecting his partner to be moving in the direction the cat had gone, but instead Malcolm was walking away from the forest, towards the outcropping. Trip followed him silently. Malcolm stopped at the edge of the small cliff, looked over the area that had recently been their battleground, then leapt lightly to the rocky ground below. He stumbled slightly when he landed. Trip figured he'd forgotten he wasn't entirely back to his full strength. Malcolm recovered quickly and kept walking.

"Hey, Malc!" Trip jogged to the edge of the outcropping and jumped after him, reminded unpleasantly of the last time he'd done it. For a moment he almost expected to be facing four snarling Varoshen and he shivered, though he wasn't bothered by the cold.

The local wardens had cleared the area the same day as the fight. Except for the ashes and stones ringing a campfire it would have been impossible to tell if anyone had been there at all. Malcolm glanced at it, then walked straight past, obviously heading for the place where he'd been stabbed.

Trip increased his speed and caught up with him. "Malc," he said. He put his hand on his partner's shoulder, making him stop. Malcolm's expression was unreadable when he turned around. "There's no point in bein' here," he said. "We should head back."

Malcolm ignored him, looking down at the earth. He started rubbing his chest, the place where the knife had gone. Trip wondered if there was still any pain.

"It was here, wasn't it?" Malcolm asked calmly. He was looking at the earth again, as if trying to see his own blood in the ground. "I remember. This is where it happened."

"Yeah," Trip said, "it was there, or pretty close." He looked around, hating this. "Why're you doin' this, Malcolm?"

Malcolm looked at him. "I should have blocked it," he said simply. "It was a stupid, clumsy move—no training, no finesse behind it. I should have blocked it."

Trip put his hands in his pockets, head hanging. The wind streamed through his hair. "I distracted you."

"No," Malcolm said thoughtfully. "I should have seen it. Been prepared." He kept his eyes on Trip's face until his partner was looking at him again. "Can you forgive me?"

Trip just stared at him. "What the hell for?" Before Malcolm could reply he stuck his hand out. "C'mon. You're givin' me the willies."

Malcolm accepted the offered hand. "We should be getting' back to the shuttle," Trip said. He was suddenly really worried about his partner being out in this cold.

Malcolm started pulling his hand away from Trip's, but Trip wouldn't let him. "You didn't answer my question."

"What question?"

Malcolm smiled sadly. "Do you forgive me? For being stupid and almost getting myself killed."

"Forgive _you?_ " Trip let out a bark of incredulous laughter. "I'm the one you should be forgivin', Malc—I was callin' to you in the middle of a fight!" He swallowed, remembering that, how close he had really come to losing him. He gripped his hand a little harder. "You didn't do anythin'."

Malcolm touched Trip's mouth, as if to silence him. "I didn't do enough."

Trip shook his hand away fiercely. "Stop it." He put his hands on Malcolm's shoulders. They were so thin now. His body burned up its resources so fast. "You're alive; I'm alive; the damn cat is runnin' off somewhere in the forest, I don't wanna hear another apology out o'you, okay? Okay?" He repeated, a little more forcefully when Malcolm didn't answer immediately.

"All right," Malcolm said. He sounded reluctant but Trip didn't push him on it.

"All right." Trip said. He gave Malcolm a kiss, then leaned his forehead against his. Malcolm's skin was cold. "I love you," he said softly, "I'm so glad you didn't die."

Malcolm chuckled. "I love you too," he answered, "and I'm glad I didn't die either."

Trip realized Malcolm was shivering. "Shit," he said. "You're like a skeleton! Let's get back to the shuttle before y'freeze t'death."

"Good idea," Malcolm said. His teeth had begun chattering.

Trip stripped off his jacket. The wind was uncomfortably cool but it wasn't so terrible. He held it out to Malcolm, who looked at him like he was insane. "Take it."

"I'm not going to take your jacket!"

Trip was abruptly reminded of the similar words he had said to Jonathan, when the captain had given him his water out in the desert. _Are men always this stupid?_ "Don't make me order you."

Malcolm glowered at him, snatching the jacket with poor grace, but at least he put it on over his own. He stopped shivering almost immediately. Trip smiled in satisfaction, taking his hand. He pointed ahead. "The shuttle should be that-away." They began walking.

* * *

"Do you ever regret it?"

"What?" Trip was picking his way over the lose earth, leading Malcolm. They were almost at the shuttle now. It looked beautifully white and warm. He wasn't sure he'd heard him right. "What am I regrettin'?"

"Us," Malcolm spoke a bit more loudly. "The relationship."

Trip glanced at him in alarm. "No! Do you?"

"Of course not," Malcolm said immediately. "It's just, what if one of us dies?"

Trip turned his attention back to the path. "Don't even wanna think about it."

Malcolm stopped, making Trip stop also by tugging on his hand. "I almost did." When Trip was facing him he said, "I don't think I could bear to lose you."

Trip shrugged helplessly. "I—I don't know what to say."

"Maybe one of us should transfer to Earth."

Trip snorted. "Y'really think I'd worry about you less if you were on Earth?"

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. "Why would it be me?"

"I'm the chief engineer," Trip grinned.

Malcolm sighed. "I don't want to be worried all the time."

Trip threw his arm around Malcolm's shoulders. They started walking again. "We love each other—get used to it."

Malcolm looked at him wryly. "That's the best you can do? 'Get used to worrying'?"

"Yep."

"Thank you," Malcolm said sarcastically, "I'm so glad you're here to tell me these things."

Trip squeezed Malcolm a little closer to him, smugly pleased that Malcolm was warm now because he was wearing his jacket. He could see Jonathan standing just in front of the shuttle's closed doors, pointedly looking at his watch. "Anytime," Trip said near Malcolm's ear, "Anytime."


End file.
